The Haunting of the Chadwick Curator
by AdamantiumDragonfly
Summary: After the events of the Creeping Shadow, Lockwood and Co., Kipps and Flo Bones are on the twilight prowl once more. Their prey? a haunting with the most peculiar source. R&R please! Complete.
1. Chapter 1

If Lockwood and Co.'s members had known what we were facing as we stood on the crumbling brick doorstep of the boarding house, Chadwick Homes, we would have turned tail and marched back down the busy street without a regret or miss thought.

The warm summer air gave way to the nightly chill as we stared up at the impressive building with blissful ignorance.

"Late Victorian, isn't it, George?" Lockwood whistled. Our leader's charismatic smile and long sweeping coat were immaculately fixed and imperturbable.

"Or Edwardian," George adjusted his glasses. "The building records aren't in the archives."

I looked up at the ironwork and the gables roof that loomed over the streets, a sinking feeling of foreboding and discomfort. The taxi ride here, I had been preparing for this moment, one that every agent dreaded. Staring up at the house that you would spend the next few hours and possibly take your last breath in. That is something very real and very serious and each of us took that moment with such reverence, none of us spoke for several seconds as we took in the sights, sounds and emotions of the house before us.

The gables and wood work may have once been white but where now stained with mold and overgrown with ivy. The stones were gray and withered, the ancient brick having seen many people on this doorstep. My overall feeling was of ancient power and rancor.

Under the chains and salt packets in my rucksack, a distinctively moaning voice echoed in my inner ear. "Ooh, this one will be exciting. A real undertaking." It chuckled to itself. "Did you see what I did? Undertaking? Like the undertaker?"

"If you are referring to the deadliness of this job by saying we'll need an undertaker by the time we're through with it," I said, coolly as I could manage, what with the never ceasing irksomeness of the skull and the eerie atmosphere of the house where we would spend the night hunting what lurked in the dark. "You need serious help."

"I'm a skull in a jar," it sighed. "The only help I need is to get out of this wretched silver glass. So what do you say, Luce, this time you'll let me out?"

"Not a chance," I whispered. Though he was right about the house. It was very ominous. I could feel my courage leaking through my boots. Though the skull was the bane of my existence and had caused me several shouting matches, projectiles that had missed their mark and the loss of six mugs of tea that it had startled me into dropping, it had saved me from ghost touch on multiple occasions. It had also nearly gotten me ghost touched on an equal number of occasions… it was a work in progress.

Whatever the status of my relationship with my haunted skull, I was very glad that Lockwood had insisted on the employment of our entire agency. Me, George, Holly, Kipps, Flo Bones and Lockwood himself would be cracking this case together, something that was an unusual occurrence. Not that anything about this job was normal. The very nature we received this booking was, in itself, bizarre.

We had gotten this particular case that very morning, the land lady coming to call in a terrible state, dripping with tears and rain over the carpets. The hammering of her fists on the wood of the front door had woken us all, rousing us from the comfy warmth of our beds, and into the hall with rapiers and robes at the ready. George opened it and we all prepared to swing. Our Client was, needless to say, unamused. Her scream would have woken the dead, or at least, jumped them into the living world.

After tea was brewed, our client consoled and the company gathered in the sitting room in the most disgruntled state we had ever been in, Lockwood began the interview. He sat back in his dressing gown, a thick patient smile spreading across his tired face like butter.

"Perhaps you could elaborate to the nature of your call?" he said, pouring her a cup of tea and forcing it into her hands.

She sniffed with as much dignity as she could muster after seeing George in his night clothes and dabbed at her eyes with a hanky. (I too would like that image erased from my eyes). "I'm here about a haunting."

Lockwood's smile took on that thin, "that much is obvious" curl and he nodded for her to go on.

"My name is Meredith Hodge. I've only just moved here from New York, after my nana died. She left me her boarding house and she died so suddenly we didn't have much time to make other arrangements." She took a sip of her tea and made a face. Americans, no accounting for taste.

Lockwood murmured his condolences but Ms. Hodge didn't wait for him to finish. "I was very lucky that most of my grandmother's boarders stayed on but I do have two new tenants, a college- though you call it university, I suppose- student and a widow. It started a few nights ago, with flashing lights in the halls and footsteps on the stairs. I hardly noticed it to be honest."

"But the phenomena has grown in strength?" Holly asked, she had been scribbling notes on her legal pad but when Ms. Hodge had started to explain the haunting, her face took on a delicately hesitant look. If flashing lights and footsteps were all it was doing, the visitor could be a weak type one. In other words, a total waste of our time.

Ms. Hodge nodded eagerly. "Objects floating, broken mirrors, doors slamming, blood on the walls. Then, last night I found the widow, Mrs. Stewart, dead!" She squeezed her eyes shut with such drama that I was positive she must have been auditioning for some sort of theatre production and not talking about the death of her own tenant.

"How exactly?" I asked, leaning forward.

"What?" Ms. Hodge's eyes popped open, losing their starlet glamour.

"How exactly did you find her? Was she laying down? Was she sitting up right? Anything unusual?"

Meredith's face paled, all dramatization gone as she remembered how she had found the body. Her eyes filled with tears as she choked. "She was hung from the ceiling, neck broken."

"So, a suicide?" George asked. "If it was, you'd be better off going to the police, Ms. Hodge."

"No. it wasn't. There was no rope."

"I beg your pardon," Lockwood said, putting down his tea with interest.

"There was no rope. Her neck was broken but she was suspended in midair. I found her there this morning. The paramedics couldn't get her down, until they used salt and iron." Lockwood and I shared looks of curiosity. We had never heard of a phenomena lasting so long after death. Ms. Hodge looked at us with such fear that I felt a twinge of sympathy for her. "I know about London's problem though we don't have such things in the states. Do you know what could have done this?"

Holly told her that a one or two night analysis of the site and the house could produce some idea of what kind of visitor caused this. "After that we can take eliminate and protect the house."

Ms. Hodge sniffed and took the offered handkerchief from Holly. She looked pale and tired, with dark circles under her eyes. She appeared to be holly's age or a little older. She had come into the darkness that was London willingly and she had no idea what she had gotten herself into.

"Just a few questions, Ms. Hodge then we'll let you collect yourself alone while we discuss." Lockwood sent her his most comforting smile and she met his gaze with slightly lifted spirits. "Did your grandmother seem harsh or angry at all near her death? Did she ever mention some unfinished business to you or your family?"

"No, everyone said she was a darling old lady, bit of a clean freak but sweet. I never got to see her very often. My dad didn't like her and neither did my mom. They had some sort of feud before I was born."

"Another question, you mentioned that a few of your grandmother's old clients stayed on. Did any of them see the blood or hear the footsteps?"

Ms. Hodge frowned, twisting the ends of her long blonde hair between her fingers thoughtfully. "No…now that you mention it, only Brady, Ms. Stewart and I ever heard or saw anything."

"Right," Lockwood mused, he twisted his head to meet my gaze. It was a surprised, sort of look that said, "Did you hear what I just heard because it may be of later relevance." I got that look directed at me quite often and it was the only way I could keep track of what he was scheming next. "Third question, Ms. Hodge, you mentioned some kind of feud between your parents and your grandmother. Can you elaborate on that?"

"Oh," Meredith shifted uneasily in her seat. "It happened a long time ago. I wasn't there…" her voice trailed away. Looking up at our expectant faces she cleared her throat. "As I said, it was a long time ago."

George snorted into his cup of tea. Ms. Hodge, to her credit, ignored him.

"Thank you Ms. Hodge. We'll call you this afternoon with our decision and make further arrangements then." Lockwood stood with Ms. Hodge and smiled as Holly showed her out the door. Over her shoulder, she called back. "You don't understand Mr. Lockwood, if this ghost is not dealt with, there may not be anything to come back to by this evening."

"A bit dramatic, isn't she?" George said as we heard Holly firmly shut the door behind our interviewee.

"Just a bit," Lockwood said distractedly, falling back into his armchair with a flop of pillows and dressing gown. "So..." he drew out the O in a long and thoughtful sound.

"So, what?" Holly asked, coming back into the room. "Are we discussing yet, Luce?"

"No, I'm afraid not." I shook my head ruefully. "The discussion has yet to begin, we're still at the scheming and thinking stage."

"That's disappointing, I dearly love to discuss things." Holly blew out her cheeks in regret.

"Oh, stop it you two," Lockwood moaned, flinging his arm across his face to block out the light from the lamps.

"Stop what?" Holly and I said at the same time.

"Stop ganging up on me." He waved his free hand at George. "Defend me, why don't you?"

George only helped himself to another biscuit. "Come on, Lockwood, enough thinking. Like the lady said, the ghost will have killed them all before you're finished. "

"Don't you think that was just a bit twee even for us?" I said. "I mean, she hasn't even been in London that long. She doesn't know how bad things are. She might have a stone knocker or an incredibly weak poltergeist and is making it out to be something much larger than it really is."

"She might be but we won't know unless we go and check it out." Lockwood ruminated in silence for another few seconds that sat up. "I want Kipps and Flo coming with us this time."

"For a stone knocker?" George protested. "Come on, I agree with Lucy, it's going to be easy. We don't need them."

And yet Lockwood stood firm. Holly called Kipps and George sought out Flo. They all agreed to come. And as the day drew on and I pondered what Ms. Hodge had said, I started to think that maybe we had underestimated this. Maybe it wasn't all smoke and mirrors as I had originally thought. Lockwood demanded we prepare with the urgency and seriousness of a type three ghost. George even went as far as to order triple the amount of salt bombs and six extra-large boxes of teabags. Everyone thought Lockwood and co. were prepared for anything. And yet, standing there on the boarding house stoop, my preparedness leaked out of my boots. This granny's horror house was a mystery of shadow and death in my inner thoughts.

"All right" Lockwood clapped his hands and the sound bounced off the building and echoed off down the street like a gunshot. We all jumped and quickly pretended like we hadn't. "I want everything set up well before nightfall. Underestimating the visitor is not something I would like to do and I have suspicions that there are two, one a hell of a lot more powerful than the other."

Kipps readjusted his googles, peering up at the Victorian spires of the house. "A grandmother haunting her granddaughter. What a terrifying thought."

George coughed. He took out his manila folder of research which he had compiled that morning at the archives. "This granny served 20 years in prison for attempted manslaughter and was tried for murder and go away twice. Is your grandmother a murderer in life and in death, Kipps?"

Flo straightened her hat and glowered at Kipps. "Mine was a florist and a drug dealer. Don't underestimate the elderly: that's my motto."

"What else did you find, George?" Holly said quickly, trying to steer the conversation away from drug dealing and homicide.

"Pearl Rosemary Simmons, died last year from cancer that had been diagnosed two years before that. One daughter, Isabelle who married an American and moved to New York to get away from The Problem and most likely her mother. Three grandchildren all in their early twenties. Isabelle was raised in foster care when Pearl was in prison."

"That could be their feud but why didn't Ms. Hodge tell us about it?" I asked. "She lied through the skin of her teeth, did you notice?"

"We can't always have clients firmly planted on the moral high ground, Luce," George said. "That's what makes our job so interesting, you've got ghosts and the clients trying to kill you."

Lockwood coughed. "Thank you George for that cheery insight into the life of an agent. If you have any more relevant details that would be wonderful."

"Actually I do." George snapped open his folder with an air of triumph. "You know how Ms. Hodge said she was a bit of a clean freak? Well, I snitched a copy of her medical records. Schizophrenia and get this, obsessive compulsive disorder in the form of, and I quote, 'extreme and violent cleanliness'"

Kipps shook his head in dismay. "The visitors keep getting weirder and weirder,"

"Right," Lockwood grinned at us all. "Divisions; Ms. Hodge has gathered the remaining tenants for us to interview in the parlor. 1st floor, on the left according to George. Holly and Kipps will take Mr. Brady Tomlin and Teagan Wylltson, while George and Flo interrogate Dr. Matthew Potter. Do me a favor, you two, and don't grill him to hard. Remember last time?"

"That was a completely different scenario, Lockwood." George protested but Lockwood ignored him, instead turning his bright and fully lit smile on me. "That leaves me and Luce to check out the building. The place is enormous and it'll take a longtime to get readings so, we'll get started right away. When you lot are done interviewing, we'll meet up again and make a safe place for the tenants-Ms. Hodge refuses to have them leave.

"After that, at 9 0'clock, we'll camp in the widow's room. Once she's quiet, we'll move on to the main haunting. Then we celebrate, have tea and go home: everyone's happy."

"Except the ghosts," Kipps said.

"Oh, yeah, except them." Lockwood looked round at us all. "Clear?"

We all shuffled into the assigned pairs and nodded. "Clear."

All joking was over and our lived were on the line again; I shifted my mindset into agent mode. I sharpened my psychic senses and shifted them into high gear. I would need my wits about me in this house.


	2. Chapter 2

The feeling I got as I stepped through the door, likened back to that of Combe-Carey Hall, and Mrs. Barret's tomb, crawling spiders of fear and doubt. The quick breathe of stale unease. I shivered.

"Oh, the devil has come to earth on this one," The skull whispered.

Lockwood placed his hand on my arm and I met his eyes. I realized that I had stopped in the middle of the hall, blocking everyone behind me.

I shook myself. I was an agent, I had done this a hundred times. Why was I getting twitchy now?

Quietly we parted ways, all going off to our specific assignments. Holly and Kipps to the communal sitting room and our research duo to the kitchen where the resident chemist brewed busily. Lockwood and I lingered in the hall, taking in the sights and sounds of the house.

There are always two levels to any building, the physical and the psychic. The physical in Chadwick homes was peeling yellow walls, and artwork that would have been ancient in the 17th century. It was graying and all around worn, the very meaning of old. The psychic side was far more interesting. At first inspection, the only thing that could be heard was soft whispers, barely audible really. I closed my eyes shutting out the distractions of the living world and zoning in on the barest echoes. Thankfully, they replayed, louder this time so I could hear every sound with such clarity it was as if I was in the room with the past residents. Shattering glass, drunken shouts and wet footsteps squishing up several flights of stairs. They replayed over and over, the sounds swirling around me. Their pitch grew in volume until it was just one high scream of pain. I yanked myself back into the living world with such force that I took a step back, ears still ringing with the after effect of the psychic scream.

Lockwood turned, looking at me with mild concern. "What? Did you hear something?"

As per the usual, he hadn't heard a thing.

I shook my head, trying to clear my ears. "Just a really high psychic scream. But I did get a little bit of an echo." I told him what I had heard.

He frowned, tapping his long languid fingers against the ornate handle of his Italian style rapier. "Its strong and its only 6 o'clock. Things have definitely started to escalate." He furrowed his brow, thinking deeply for a few moments than his smile ignited its full power once more. "What do you think, Luce? Start at the top and work our way down?"

I nodded. "What an excellent idea. Lead the way, Mr. Lockwood!"

The third and second floors were normal with virtually no psychic residue. Lockwood poked his head in a few closets, and stumbled around trying to rid his hair of a spider that had claimed his head as its own before our brave leader declared the floors safe.

It wasn't until we moved to the first floor that things became curious. The widow's room was the only bedroom on this floor, the others being a Lilliputian-sized washroom and a dusty linen cupboard that smelled of mothballs and damp cloth.

The bedroom itself was virtually untouched since the night of the death. It was very granny like with ruffles and lace and a distinct aroma of cats and a thick perfume of something I couldn't quite make out.

"Heavy, isn't it, the smell?" Lockwood whispered. It was a mark of how uncomfortable this room made us feel that we lowered our voices like we did. I took a deep whiff of the smell and recoiled; it was thick with fragrance and death.

A tapping started in my inner ear. Nothing loud or quite distinctive but it was there, nonetheless. I listened harder, my hearing filled with the sounds of frightened breathing and a shaky "hello?" from somewhere by the bed. I shivered. "It's repeating the minutes before her death." There was footsteps and the creak of the door opening, a sharp intake of breath like someone preparing to scream then a sickening crack of bones. I took a step back.

"Luce, you all right?"

"Yeah, it was just very real. Got any death glows yet?"

He nodded. "Yeah, it's pretty bright, right by the door. Check out these pictures."

I peered up at the photos that held birthday parties, Christmases and family vacations frozen in time. Pearl would have been jealous at the amount of time Mrs. Stewart spent with her own grandchildren and I told Lockwood so. "You could be right," he said. "A jealousy-driven visitor, haven't had one of those in a while"

"What's the temp?" I asked.

"10 degrees Celsius." Lockwood said.

I could see ice crystals forming on the window panes. I heard a sharp crash in my inner ear and shivered. There had been no such noise in the living world.

"Let's go down stairs." Lockwood said. I agreed already halfway to the door.

The others were waiting in the foyer, talking in very low voices, it seemed the feeling in the air had affected them too. Holly looked up as Lockwood and I came out onto the landing. "You won't like this, Lockwood,"

Holly had been the bane of my existence, a relentless thorn in my side but after the Rotwell incident, six months ago, we had bonded. Not that she didn't annoy me to hell and back with her constant cleanliness but we had accepted each other and even took assignment together. Yes, we had finally achieved what had seemed impossible a year ago and I was glad that I had ignored the Skull's goading during those trying times. After all, if I had killed Holly in a fit of anger and clean jumpers, who would stock up on those salted caramels I adored so much?

"Why?" I asked. "What's happened?"

"Quill and I's interview shows just how strong the visitor is. Ms. Wylltson says she hears a rough scrapping sound every night outside her door even after her room had been armed with salt and iron precautions. Mr. Wing repots a series of bloody footprints pacing the hall and tapping at his window as well as a figure out of the corner of his eye."

Quill adjusted the lapel of his grandfatherly sweater. Since Kipps had joined the ranks of Lockwood and co. he had, it had to be said, been a decent addition to the team. He was a quick thinker and not bad with his rapier. His fashion sense, even I knew, left a lot to be desired. "Both seemed quite ticked that they had to stay in the parlor for the investigation. They are concerned about any damage that be befall their possessions but - "

"We told them that staying in their room was out of the question." Holly finished for him. "But that proves how powerful this ghost is. Resisting salt and iron, Lockwood? I've never seen anything like it."

Lockwood frowned, a crease stretching across his forehead, making him seem forty not nearly seventeen. "And you George? What horrors did you bring from the good old doctor?"

"Not much by way of phenomena but he was quite useful telling us about dear old nana, since he was one of the original tenants." George adjusted his spectacles with a twitch of his fingers. "She came home one day, about twenty years ago, coated in blood. The doctor said it was like a one woman blood bath. For a nearly eighty year old, he was quite gleeful about gore and demise. Anyway, she tracked these bloody footprints up and down the stairs. He walked out on the landing and watched as she tried to clean up the foot prints while still covered in blood. He called the police but was never convicted of anything."

We all stared at the steps in question, the very stairs we stood on. I could practically hear the sounds of a stiff bristled brush rasping against the wood. I shuddered as I imagined the sight. "Why does he stay there? He saw all this death here and he stayed?"

"It's cheap." George shrugged.

"No matter how cheap, to live in a place like this…"

"Well, Lucy and I have something to report too." Lockwood said. I described the replay of the moments before Mrs. Stewart's death, the footsteps, whispers and final scream.

No one spoke for a few seconds. Even George was uncharacteristically quiet. It was Quill who broke the silence. "So, what do we do now?"

"We protect the boarders. They are our top priority right now. Luce, you and Flo will set up the safe room. The rest of us will set up protective circles." Lockwood instructed, swishing his coat clear of his rapier.

"Really?" George said. "Four of us for the circle?"

"Wrong." Lockwood corrected. "Circles. Plural. I want one on every level and three in the bedroom. Who knows how many ghosts lurk in this house."

"Lockwood is right." I interjected. "I don't want to be caught unawares. A pair of type twos in one house." I stressed the latter as unease spread across the back of my neck and down my spine with its clammy fingers.

Flo shrugged. "Let's just get this over with, Locky."

Confidence or disconcert, which ever Flo was channeling at the moment, I had to agree, we were wasting precious time that could have been used to track down the source.

We departed, splitting ways once more. Flo and I lugging heavy bags with enough silver and iron to equip an army of agents, while Lockwood, holly, George and Kipps left with considerably lighter loads.

The room we had sectioned off as the safe room, was the downstairs lounge that was used dually as a common area and breakfast nook with four camp cots hidden away in the crevices in the room.

It reminded me of my old studio flat in Tooting, equal parts work, sleep, and tea-making, and just as messy. Books, magazines, and newspapers dating back three decades were strewn across the room. Flo and I had our work cut out for us securing the room amongst the clutter.

We made due with iron rings around each bed and silver threaded gauze hung like mosquito netting draped over them. I took down painting and in their place put iron charms and lavender sachets.

Flo was setting up sophisticated prototypes nicked by George per our spectacled friend's instructions in every corner of the room and salt washed every doorway, entrance and cupboard. It was hot, sweaty and exhausting work. At last we finished.

Stepping off my stool, I looked around the room. it had the appearance of an agent's kit bag that had exploded in the area and I said so.

"Ha!" Flo snorted. "It's a lot more organized than that. Besides, agents wouldn't have this stuff." She motioned at George's little machines.

"Those are Rotwell's, right?"

She shook her head. "Can't you recognize George's handiwork, Carlyle? Made it all himself."

"It's probably a lot more reliable than the junk we got from the research lab." I conceded. I hadn't known George had been invention his own protection equipment. "What does it do?"

"No idea. Probably shouldn't touch it, now that it's set up."

I murmered my agreement. Who knew what kind of horrible schemes George's little mind had thought up after all those experiments on the Skull.

"Oh, he is truly evil." Skull said from the sofa where my knapsack lay open. "I have been with several villains but it's that fat Cubbins is the one you've got to watch out for."

"Oh, shut up!" I hissed at him.

"That skull annoying you again?" Flo asked. How she knew about the skull and my psychic connection with it was beyond me. I had never told Flo about it; in fact this may have been the longest I had ever been in a room alone with Flo before.

"How did you-"

"Cubby told me," Flo said, gathering her empty salt packets and dry water bottle. "He says you're attached to it."

"That's rich considering he took a bubble bath with it."

"A bath with whom?" the door had opened, holly entering with a politely quizzical quirk to her eyebrows. "Oh, there you two are. Are you finished? Lockwood wants to meet on the landing."

The feeling in the air as we gathered on the landing of the fourth floor was that of a funeral procession; somber and an impatience to get it over with.

George shifted from foot to foot as Flo and I ascended the final flight of stairs, gasping. Holly skipped up behind us and chirped. "All here, Lockwood."

"Right, this may be one of the toughest, cases we've faced. Right up there with Combe-Carey and Albury Castle. That's why I need every one to keep their heads."

"When have we ever lost our heads?" George asked, feigning in shock and disbelief.

"I'm sure there was something somewhere." I mused.

"Yeah, Cubbins," Kipps said. "When you survive a case without once falling on your backside in fear, is the day I fly."

"The point is," Lockwood said, cutting George off before he could say something rude and well deserved to Kipps. "We aren't going to lose our heads this time. We aren't going to drop our rapiers over the banister and nearly kill your team leader because you saw a white-faced apparition that turned out to be George."

"That was one time!" Kipps cried defensively while George chuckled wickedly.

"We aren't going to lose our heads. Nod if you understand." Lockwood said. We all nodded slowly so he could see us. "good." He relaxed his shoulder an easy grin spreading across his face. Lockwood was the only person I knew who could smile in a haunted house that once belonged to a serial killer. "All right, team, now that we decided we won't lose our heads in a crisis, I know we can finish this case pronto. You know why?"

"Because we're the best team in London," we chorused. "We know!"

"You tell us that every time."

"Because it's true." The headlines were flashing in his eyes. I believed in us, I really did but our leader had always been overly confident about his team's skills and abilities. I was still learning how to control and harness my newly strengthened talent that was sometimes too much. Lockwood and Co, had gone through some tough spots and some easy cases. We'd been bruised, battered and burnt down several houses. I straightened to my fullest height. I knew we would make it out of this one too. We were Lockwood and co. we were the best.

"Oh, getting cocky again, Luce." The skull whispered cheekily.

"You never say hello, do you? You just start talking." I complained as we started down the hallway.

"Fine then," the skull said. I could practically hear his vaporous eyes rolling. "Hello from the Other Side."

 **A/N**

 **Thanks so much for reading again! I have roughly the next two chapters planned out but I still have to write and upload them which could take a while as I am also working on NaNoWriMo in addtion to college classes. YIKES! I go this one done a lot later than I would have like to but I will try and get each chapter up in two weeks. I also have some headcanons centered around Christmas and what the kiddos at Lockwood and Co. do during the holidays. If you guys want me to upload those in the month of December, then just let me know in the comments. Also, let me know what you would like to see in the next three to four chapters of The Haunting Of The Chadwick Curator. Procrastination has been a serious problem but who cares when you've got DareDevil on Netflix? am I right?**

 **Thanks, and Love Y'all.**


	3. Chapter 3

We reached the room without event or incident. In fact, the amount of build up to this moment led it to being rather unimpressive. I took in the sights and sounds of the room anew. The pictures still hung on the walls happy and frozen, the bed still sat stooped and ruffled like a pristine senior. But unlike before it was more awake. I could feel it in the tingling of my finger tips and buzzing of my inner ear.

I listened to the sounds of the last moments of its previous occupant. Anything? No, just the heavy breathing of George in my ear. I knew that would change rather quickly. This ghost was just itching to take form. Lockwood could sense it too. I could tell by the instant change in his posture.

"Quick, set up a circle." Lockwood hissed. We all felt the sudden change in the air and lost no time in setting up defenses that were to the highest standards. We had one iron circle by the bed, anther by the window and the final by the door. We set up camp, sitting inside the circles with our thermoses and bags of chocolate as company. Lockwood was in my circle, holly in Kipps's and Flo in George's, all making cheery conversation-well, as cheery as to be expected given the situation. I frowned, swirling my tea in my thermos.

"What wrong, Luce?" Lockwood asked.

"Just thinking, "I said. "About of a lot of things." It was true, I was jumbled up with questions, possible answers and all swirling like the plasm in the ghost jar.

"Can I help?" Lockwood looked at me, is sunglass's lenses reflecting in the candlelight; flames from the very pits of hell. He seemed devilish and dangerous just then. Something like an elevator shaft opened in my stomach and I dropped through it.

Lockwood? Dangerous; I must have been crackers to think that. But now that the gate of possibility had been opened, I now saw how recklessly dangerous Lockwood was. I had don more life-threatening things with Lockwood than I had without. The Screaming staircase, Bickerstaff's bone glass, Aikmere's and Albury castle to name a few. And Lockwood had never one told me exactly what he was planning and why we were there. He kept us all in the dark and never told us, "more than we needed to know.", according to him. But how could we trust our leader?

My mind was a whirling soup of problems dark as night and thick like pitch and it all boiled down to Lockwood. But how could I tell him? How could I tell him that beneath the exhilaration, excitement and adrenaline- I was so very afraid?

"Ooh, let it all out," the skull said from its place beside the pile of salt packets. The plasm formed a deeply understanding expression that I could just tell was mocking. "you know what you need? A vacation. From London and from the problem. You have so much tension and stress but what was it you said a while ago?" the skull grinned. " 'there is only rest for the dead.' I can tell you that being dead is very restful. All it requires is a little cutting of the ties to earth and poof! A vacation minus sunburns and not being able to work the shower."

I sighed. I had to be a mess if my haunted skull was trying to be my therapist. I looked up. Lockwood was still staring at me. "Sorry, I zoned out."

"Its fine." Lockwood smiled. "I was just asking if you had heard anything yet?"

"No, not yet," I said. "though that's likely to change. The visitor is clearly very eager-" my voice trailed away. The knocking had begun again softly, slowly. It was tapping out a rhythm of darkness that sent shivers down my spine. I had heard many things in my life that could have been classified as "scary" but I had never witnessed a sound that filled me with such a sense of foreboding as that minuet tapping.

"Do you hear something?" Lockwood asked.

"yes, its replaying again only its much, much louder this time."

There were soft footsteps toward the door, a creaking of hinges then the final, brutal crunch of bone and gasp of breath. There was a reverberating psychic scream that was so loud I covered my ears with my palms, trying desperately to block out the noise.

"Luce," Lockwood pulled away a hand and looked deep into my eyes. "Are you alright? What did you hear?"

I sat back on my heels, letting out a breath that I had held for a long time. To everyone's surprise and even my own, I let out a small chuckle. It released the tightness in my chest but the sound itself seemed lost in the cold atmosphere of the room. I stood, looking down at Lockwood. "it was just the lead-up to her death. It's the most common psychic playback, Lockwood."

I looked around, by the looks on everyone else's faces, they had heard nothing. But that was what made my talent different. What made me so special. I could hear what the ghost wanted me to hear. I was at its mercy and I could only hear what anger and resentment that boiled beneath the surface of this room. It was nauseating. I felt sick, my head spun, and I wobbled dangerously on my feet. I fell to my knees, in the circle, and shook myself. Such anger. But it wasn't to the widow's ghost it was something else. Something that provoked several other dangerous encounters in this house. I shivered.

"Lucy. You are the only one who knows what's going on right now. I haven't seen anything and neither has anyone else. I need you to tell me what you are hearing and feeling right now. That is the only way any of us are going to stay alive tonight." Lockwood's voice was close to my ear, he crouched beside me and tucked one strand of hair behind my ear. "I trust your talent, Lucy."

I sat up, shook my self and looked at George, who had a pen poised to take notes and readings. "I heard a scream of great psychic power, and there is another ghost in this house that is stirring up this one. This visitor was killed and is provoked by the first visitor. There is a great sea of anger and bitterness in this room alone. I think its Pearl's anger at the widow's happiness. She won't let her rest and pass on because she wants her to be just as angry as Pearl was."

Holly frowned. "A spirit seeking vengeance on another spirit. Two ghosts locked in combat over the other side. There is no way this is possible. Have any of you ever heard this kind of thing before?"

"I've never heard of it, but it sounds like the thing to be doing. I wouldn't bother waiting for the other to die, I would do it to George as soon as I keel over." Kipps twirled his goggles around his forefinger.

"Yeah, but you're ancient, Kipps, never know when you might fall over. Could be any moment now." George clicked his pen closed and looked at him over the rims of his glasses. "Don't worry. I'll cry at your funeral if you want me too."

"My ghost will make your life a living hell and when you die, I'm just going to follow you all around the Other Side and make your afterlife even worse."

"Well, my ghost won't associate with your ghost."

"Who will you talk to? Lucy is far too sensible to die, Holly is too organized and Flo…." Kipps looked at Flo with a distrusting stare. He had never really warmed to her, what with the smell, her hat and her knack for hiding relics in the most inconvenient places. "I think the Other Side will just spit her out."

"I'll hang out with Barnes." George retorted. "we might turn out to be the best of friends once we put aside our differences."

"Enough with your visitor drama!" Lockwood cut in. "Let's keep our conversation pertinent to the case at hand. Kipps and George, save your plans of vengeance for another day."

I looked over at the pictures on the wall. They were happy, frozen and nothing like the atmosphere of Chadwick homes.

"Skull?" I whispered, keeping my voice low to keep the others from overhearing. "any thoughts."

"oh, I see," The skull sniffed. "all paranormal business now. Well, since my attempts at therapy are clearly not wanted, I guess I'll leave you to sort this out on your own." The ghost fog inside the glass began to dissipate.

"Skull, you wouldn't dare!"

"Oh, but I do dare," it said, its voice growing dimmer and dimmer until the last thing I heard was, "Take a closer look."

I was yanked back to this room by George's hiss. "I see something. Its walking toward the door. Oh, its definitely the widow."

He was silent for three, painful heartbeats then he gasped. "What the hell?"

"What? What did you see?" holly gave a shrill little squeak.

George gulped "It was just grabbed by a hand, a giant hand, and jerked through the ceiling."

Take a closer look.

While the others gaped at the apparition's last site, I looked over my shoulder at the pictures. My feet seemed drawn to it. My gut told me that what I needed was over there. One step, close to the edge of the iron circle.

"What kind of a visitor are we dealing with?" Lockwood asked.

"a poltergeist, perhaps?" Kipps suggested. "like Aikmere's?"

I lifted my foot over the four-inch thick chains.

"perhaps, not quite that powerful." Lockwood mused. "but that is a possibility."

My feet once over the iron chains, led me with swift steps to the wall with the pictures. I inspected them closer. She had four grandchildren, all close in age, it seemed. I squinted. There seemed to be no similarity in the locations and no obvious themes. It was just a snapshot of this woman's life. I looked closer.

 _Take a closer look_.

What was similar? What was different? I frowned.

Perhaps there was one thing. In every photograph, staged, professionally done or the complete opposite, grainy and unfocused, the widow's throat was never bare. She always had a gold, heart-shaped locket. I paused.

Except one.

"what do you think, Luce?" Holly asked. She looked around.

"Lucy, what are you doing?" Lockwood hissed. I looked over my shoulder.

"Following my gut." I said and looked back at the wall. Where was the difference? I scanned the wallpaper. I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck rising. The visitor was coming back, and she was not happy.

I looked up. My eyes were pricked for anything, any sign to differentiate the photos.

There!

A grainy, home photograph of a Christmas morning long ago with a small child handing the widow -then happily married- a small box the perfect size for a necklace. I took it off the wall searching the picture for any clues to solidify my suspicions. If the widow had loved this locket enough to wear it every single day, it must be her source. It just had to be. I ripped off the backing as my fingers started to go numb.

I had to hurry.

On the back of the photo, on the creamy white paper, void of almost all color was looping black letters. They spelled out six words that made a smile of satisfaction spread across my face.

A locket for Granny, from Louisa.

"I found the Source!" I said, triumphantly turning around. My eyes met Lockwood's whose whole face seemed to be screaming at me to run. I turned slightly to my right and my skin went clammy. A fully-formed apparition sat by the bed. Her long hair flowed down to her feet and ended in swirls of ghost fog and plasm. The miasma rolled in waves, like fog on the ocean, separating me and Lockwood. I cursed.

I was trapped. I looked behind me there was only a dormer window that peaked out over the back garden. Could I jump? I looked back at the visitor, who had stepped closer, the edges of the fog now touching the tips of my boots. Her neck was slung at an odd angle, as if it had been broken. It was the widow.

I stared at her. She stared at me.

An explosion of salt and iron filings sent me flying back against the window. Iron cut through my leggings and salt nicked my face and hands. I felt someone lift me up and shove me into the dormer window. I could smell his wool coat and sharp odor of hair gel as I was shoved behind Lockwood into the window.

"what were you thinking, Lucy?" his face was close to mine, his thick, long coat protecting us from the ghost fog and chill. Over his shoulder I could see Kipps fighting off tendrils of ectoplasm.

"Flo!" I bellowed. "Find a gold locket!"

The hat on her head bobbed briefly as she nodded and then she disappeared from sight.

"Lucy, you didn't answer me." Lockwood placed his hands on either side of my face. "You're bleeding." He wiped away a streak of blood with his thumb. "but you're lucky you didn't die." His voice cracked softly. I suddenly felt very awkward to be so close to him. We had but three inches that was not being occupied by either of our bodies. I felt strange being so close. Lockwood was so near that I could feel his breath on my face. It was intoxicating and too much for me. We were on a case I couldn't have my thoughts cloud my judgement.

"I found the Source, Lockwood. I did my job. You don't have to worry about me. I fully accept the consequences to my actions."

He looked at me with such a haunted, empty gaze that it made my heart ache. I swallowed hard. This was my job, I couldn't be worried about what my actions will do to the others.

"Tony!" Kipps shouted. "Stop cuddling up to Carlyle and give a fellow a hand."

The walls around Lockwood's emotions were erected once again and he tossed his devil-may-care grin my way as he slid out to help Quill.

I followed suit, drawing my rapier. Together, the three of us, Lockwood, Quill and I fought off the encroaching strands of ectoplasm. We twirled and spun, rapiers flashing in the flickering lamplight. Quill and Lockwood called taunts and jabs to each other and I flung playful banter at them as well. I was in the motion of using all my senses. I was in my zone. I could not be stopped.

Over my shoulder, I yelled. "Flo! Found it yet?"

"I think so!" Flo hollered. "Carlyle, you said it was gold, right?"

"I yelled it at you like twice and you still don't know what it is?" I screamed. "Yes, its gold."

"Just making it sure!" Flo called. "Ceiling it now."

There was a great rush of air, blowing my hair, Quill's scarfs and Lockwood's coat in every direction. Above the wind, I heard a soft, "thank you." Then all was silent.

Lockwood and co. was quiet for several minutes. Lack of breath, lack of words, lack of concern: all of these might have kept us noiseless. Then the spell was broken by Flo's indignant cry. "oh, I see how it is, no thanks to me."

"what did you do?" I asked, "We were the ones who fought off the specter and I was the one who figured out the source in the first place."

We continued to bicker good-naturedly as we packed up our chains, sealed the source in a silver glass box and slowly filed out of the room. Lockwood playfully critiqued Kipps's rapier handling; George and holly quarreled over where they would store the new Source. I smiled. My team, my family. I was filled with a swelling pride. We had completed one half of the case. I was feeling confident.

A shatter scream burst my eardrums and a great rushing wind sent me staggering. A figure of black smoke lunged at me. Holly screamed as I rocketed backwards in an attempt to get away from the visitor, but I flipped backwards over the stair banister instead and fell. My hands flailing around wildly made contact with something wool and nothing, without thinking, I grabbed it.

"Lucy- _Ack_!" Lockwood's cry turned into an ungentlemanly squawk when - what I now realized was the tail of his coat – was yanked backwards by yours truly.

He too flipped over the banister and we were both freefalling now. Cold air rushed past my ears, the weightlessness was bizarre. Then I was yanked back to a stationary position.

Looking up, I saw Lockwood, one had wrapped tight on my ankle, the other on a banister spindle, his strained face suspended in between.

"Lockwood, let go." I gasped, as blood rushed to my head pounding in my ears.

"no!" Lockwood grunted. "I can hold us both." Lifting his head, he shouted for George. "Get down here, you oaf!"

"Lockwood," I said, "Lockwood listen to me, just let go."

He shook his head. I could see his fingers, constricted around the spindles, were slipping slowly.

"Lockwood," I whispered lovingly. "You big git, just let me go."

"No!" he growled. "If you fall from this height, you'll break you neck. I can't lose you too."

"Anthony." I said softly, a name I hadn't called him in all my years at Lockwood and co. it was a mark of how serious I was. "the floor is literally two feet away."

There was a pause of great magnitude then Lockwood broke the silence. "Oh…...really?"

"Yes," I looked down. "I'm staring at it right now."

"Ah, so it is. Right." He cleared his throat. "well, then."

He slowly dropped me down. When my feet hit the ground, Lockwood dropped beside me. We stood apart, not only in feet but in emotional distance. I stared at the floor awkwardly.

Kipps thundered down the stairs, swinging around the banister. "Lockwood!"

Lockwood looked up, relief flooding across his face. I sighed in respite, thanking whoever watched over me from staving off the embarrassment.

"What's wrong?"

"she's gone."

"who's gone?" I asked. "Flo?"

"What? No!" Kipps recoiled. "Why would I care about her? Nah, Holly's missing."


	4. Chapter 4

There are always, at least two things to find out about before a new case to prevent absolute disaster.

1\. Always make sure that if the home's previous owner served jail time, it wasn't, say, murder.

2\. And if said previous owner was, indeed a murderer not once or twice but three times, dig further for an accomplice in the murders who by coincidence still lived in the house.

There you are, now you little agents-in-training know something that even Lockwood sometimes forgets.

That day, lying in a rather cramped position between Lockwood and Kipps in the butler's pantry, I wondered how we had missed such an important piece of research. As it was, we hadn't, and we were about to reach the absolute disaster that was no one's fault but our own.

Holly had gone missing while our dear friends were concerned for Lockwood and me as we hung from the banister. Kipps had searched, frantic, up and down the stairs and in all the bedrooms but to no avail. This was a problem. Holly had been carrying our supply of chain nets and, more importantly, all of our biscuits. If we found the source, we would have nothing to contain it with and if we got hungry…I shudder to think.

Lockwood had sent George to the living room to keep guard over the living residents of the home but had sent Flo on a more important mission: to fetch DEPRAC immediately. That left Kipps, Lockwood and myself to the task of locating Holly and bringing her back to where we knew was safe, from both human and paranormal forces. So far, our quest for our friend had been fruitless but I had gotten very close to Kipps in a physical way that I had never once wanted to know.

"This is worse than playing hide and seek with George," Lockwood hissed under his breath.

The butler's pantry was not meant for three people but was the only way to get into the basement apartment that had been the residence of Pearl Simmons. Kipps, perched on the counter like a glass-eyed owl, cleared his throat. "So, are we going down?"

I squirmed between Lockwood's chest and Kipp's jutting knee. "I should hope so, I'm getting claustrophobic." The smell of Lockwood's shirt was intoxicating to me, and I had to force myself to breathe. My heart hammered with fear for Holly and also, the closeness between me and Lockwood.

Anthony shifted, and his hand brushed my back. "Sorry, Luce. Yes, we should get going. The light is going to be left up here. I'll go first with my rapier drawn and with a flashlight. Kipps, you're next, if Holly is down there. Take her and get her the hell out of her. Lucy, you and I will silence the spirit and find out whoever took Hol. Understood?"

Kipps and I nodded.

Lockwood grinned. "Let's try and keep our heads, shall we?" He turned and bashed his forehead against the doorframe. There was silence for several seconds before I whispered. "Are you okay, Lockwood?"

"Yes," he inhaled sharply. "How can someone live in a house made for midgets?" We slowly started down the staircase and we only tripped over one stair. I was proud of us. As I followed the back of Kipp's sweater down the stairs, I whispered to the skull. "What are we getting into?"

"Oh, so now you want my opinion?" The Skull sneered from my knapsack. "Well, my professional estimation is not free but let me give you a consultation. More than what you're prepared for, darling."

I muttered some unsavory comments about the Skull under my breath, all of which, he could hear, and I didn't mind.

The cellar was furnished comfortably, curtains crisp, the floors clean and fittings, severe though comfortable-looking enough. It smelled damp but with a suffocating tang of lemon cleaning solution, like the kind Holly used.

"Does anyone have a cup of tea?" Lockwood asked. "I could do with a sip of a tea right now."

"No, I don't have any," Kipps said. Lockwood looked over his shoulder at me. I shook my head, "Sorry. All out."

I, too, felt like my mouth was dry. It was as if a desert had taken up residence in my mouth. I was out of mints and all out of tea, so there was nothing to do about it. I wondered if the dryness was because of the visitor or the tension that was building with every step we took toward the center of the room. The room had seemed easy but now with the light of the staircase stretching long shadows across the gray concrete floor and the swinging torchlight slowly diminishing in strength, I felt a twinge of fear at the pit of my stomach. The door to a second room was cracked ever so slightly and from it, I could hear the sounds of frantic breathing and something scraping softly across the floor.

I shivered and laid a hand on my rapier. With each step, the scraping sound grew more persistent, like a snake's scaly underside slithering across the tiled floor. Kipps breath grew faster with every step and slither until it became a steady rhythm.

 **Footstep** , _Slither,_ Breath.

 **Footstep** , _Slither_ , Breath.

 **Footstep** , _Slither_ , Breath.

My heart beat harder, adding its drumming to the song.

 **Footstep** , _slither,_ breath, _**heartbeat.**_

 **Footstep** , _Slither_ , Breath, _**heartbeat**_ until we reached the door and peered around it with caution. I peered under Lockwood's arm, Kipps's scarf tickling my nose. Rolling my eyes, I swatted it away. On the other side of the door was a bedroom, with a dusty bed and a chair, sat in the middle of the room, in it sat a man with a balding head and a knitted sweater that was motheaten and stained with things that I did not want to even try to name. In his hands as a length of rope that he threw across the room then slowly drew it back to him with the slithering sound that mimicked that of a snake. The frantic breathing came from the corner of the room was a huddled purple cardigan that was covered in ectoplasmic stains and gray dust.

"Holly!" Kipps hissed. Lockwood elbowed him in the ribs and stuffed the agent behind him. There was something more in that room, something swirling and growing in a mass of sickly green ectoplasm. It stood between the man, us and Holly. She cowered, the ectoplasm sending licking tendrils toward her shoes, ghost fog growing chokingly thick in the small bedroom.

Judging from the twinge in my stomach and the hairs prickling on my arms and neck the visitor was here, waiting. Just out of sight.

Waiting for us.

It was a trap.

"-and she needs us. "Kipps hissed.

"I understand that. We have the plan. You need to get her out, while we distract the spirit."

"Lockwood," I whispered, barely audible even in our fear-induced silence. "I know who the man is…. It's the professor. He…. he was the one who…" I closed my eyes, trying to focus on the echo that was dancing on the edge of my Talent.

"Lucy, if you don't have to anything concrete…."

I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, trying to force it into clarity. Just to find it. I needed to tell Lockwood that this was a trap, but I could already hear his voice saying, "That isn't concrete, Luce." Just like Jacobs. Just like Jacobs. I was going to have more blood on my hands. I needed something solid, something to prove I was right. But I didn't have anything, I had nothing, no facts. I tried to keep my mind blank, praying that some form of miraculous information that was reliable and concrete. There was a buzzing in my ears, slowly. slowly. slowly. taking my hearing with it.

Muffled memories and echoes that were dancing at the edge of my vision. A man and a woman with knives and guns. Blood and gore that had been seen by these very walls. The bloody footsteps being stained by the sensible shoes of a woman who loved cleaning, from scrubbing floors to murdering people who did her wrong.

My hearing suddenly kicked back in. Lockwood yelling at Kipps. Kipps's heavy footfalls as he ran into the adjoining.

The Ghost Jar's voice came back to me.

"The professor was the accomplice. The professor was the one who took Holly."

I repeated his words to our leader.

Lockwood's face has a great talent. It is able to portray nearly six different emotions at once. He rarely uses his gift to its full extent-two or three will do- but now in the midst of swirling ectoplasm, the shrieks of Kipps and the visitor, he managed every single emotion that fit the situation on his face. Exasperation, frustration, annoyance, anger -probably at me- panic -probably my fault- and murder (which was probably mine).

I glared at him. I had had a horrible feeling about the situation since my foot touched the steps to this house and he had not believed me, he had not heeded my warning and told him so with my glare. We continued to grapple with our eyes for several seconds before Holly's muffled yelps snapped both of us out of our visual quarrel. The old professor's thin limbs were hard at work, pulling her chair towards the counter where lay a thick knife with an intended purpose that I would not enjoy watching. Lockwood squeezed my hand in his own and every word of his plan was transmitted through that single touch. I ran toward Kipps drawing my rapier with a sharp rasp of metal and plunged it into the visitor.

She screeched, sending my brain rattling in my skull. Whipping strands of ectoplasm danced around me but I flicked them away with my rapier. Would have to stay close to try and glean any information from the raging spirit.

Pearl's emotions were burning hot and it stung against my mind, the anger in her spirit searing like a flame. She was concealing her source but with a rapier's cold silver in her spectral form she dropped her shields for a fraction of a second. I looked over my shoulder and saw Lockwood had knocked out the old man and was now cutting Holly free. I took a breath and prepared myself for what I was about to do.

"Stand clear!" I shouted at Kipps who looked at me as though I had grown two heads but did as I instructed. I swore under my breath and buried my rapier into the stormy, swirling side of Pearl Simmons. With a psychic scream, she let down her shields and I reached out into her mind. I searched through her memories for one that stood out to me, one that for sure linked the professor and pearl. I tossed aside years of pearl's thieving and manslaughter til I found the one that I wanted. Pearl, sobbing as she scrubbed the floors with bloodstained hands.

Her bristled bush, one long worn soft from use was soaked with the thick, scarlet liquid. No doubt it would be stained for many years. A painful memory that would stick with Pearl every time she used it. The last action before she went to prison. My neck prickled as if someone had pressed a wet cloth to the skin. I prayed that I was wrong. The source couldn't be…..

Pearl's scream shattered my thoughts and sent me flying backward.

Light, weight, and pain were fleeting things as I sailed through the air. Could it be that I was shocked by my discovery or had I really been blown backward?

My collision with the floor solidified my latter suspicions. Pain shot down my spine and everything went black for a few moments that felt like blissfully empty years.

When my eyes refocused, Lockwood was leaning over me. He was fuzzy but it was Lockwood.

Thank God I hadn't gone blind. It would be a tragedy to never see his face again.

I woke a little more and blushed at my thought, very thankful that I had not said it allowed.

"Do you know where the source is?" Lockwood asked. If he caught my blush, he didn't comment.

I closed my eyes, catching scraps of Pearl's mind desperately trying to keep them from escaping. Where had she kept it?

I flipped through the pages of her memory, the blood-soaked book was difficult to read, the paper sticking together as I tried to track down the information. 'Um, under the sink."

"Under?"

"Yes."

"The sink?"

"Yes"

"What is it?"

I got to my knees and crawled toward the apartments outer room, toward a set of cracked cabinets supporting a stained sink. My legs were numb but I crawled with determination. Pearl ceased her feud with Kipps and sent snarls of greet ectoplasm after me. Lockwood dodged in between, fending off the enraged attacker. I rifled through the cabinets knocking over bottles of bleach and cleaners that smelled strongly I felt nauseous. My coordination since the fall was severely lacking. Growling in frustration, I tossed cleaner after cleaner over my shoulder until I found it. The scrub brush lay in a half-open box filled with noxiously floral soaps. The brush was stained with blood, cleaner and who knew what else. I closed my eyes praying that I was wrong.

Praying to any god out there that this - the lamest source ever- was not actually the capstone to this haunting.

I could feel the supernatural aura pulsing from this simple tool.

"Visitors keep getting stranger." I sighed.

And withdrew from the cupboard. I raised my voice against the mayhem and shouted to Lockwood. "It's a scrub brush."

Lockwood looked over his shoulder, coat swinging among ectoplasmic banks. The other light and ghost fog were so powerful that my eyes were blinded. "A what?"

"A SCRUB BR-oh never mind…" He still made no sign of hearing me.

 _But_ **Pearl** **had**.

She snapped her bony head and stared straight into my eyes. I felt a thousand ghostly hands on my arms, cold and clammy. My heart leaped into my throat as she leaped over Lockwood and lunged for me.

Clumsily, I reached one hand behind me grasping for the source in question and the other rummaging in my pockets for a silver seal. Once both hands had clasped their target I shoved them before me. To try and prevent the ghost from attacking me? I do not know. Squeezing my eyes shut, waiting for the cold hands to clasp around my throat.

I felt cold waves roll across my toes but no searing pain or swelling pain of frosty fingers around my throat that would end in death.  
I opened my eyes.

As I had shoved my arms in front of me, the silver seal had enveloped the source. Pearl had been frozen, suspended, inches away from my numb fingertips. Tendrils of ectoplasm were stilled in narrow points, daggers pointed at my heart. Ghost fog rolled off them like breaking waves. Slowly, Pearl started to crumble. Little flakes falling like gray snow to the ground followed by frozen shards, fractals disappearing into the air till nothing but the barest traces of fog remained.

I took a shuddering breath then laughed rather nervously.

Lockwood fell to his knees in the middle of the room, shoulders shaking with silent mirth. Kipps and Holly fell into each other's arms with breathless, wild laughter.

As the clambering clumping footsteps of DEPRAC came down the stairs and officers swarmed the basement, Holly, Kipps, Lockwood and I still cried tears of laughter.

George burst into the room and bellowed. "Are you okay? Why the hell are you laughing?"

I took a heaving breath, waving the silver swathed brush in my hand.

"It's a scrub brush."

We dissolved into laughter again. The DEPRAC officers looked at us with concern but we didn't notice.

Why were we laughing? Because we were alive. Because we had successfully completed another job. And, most likely of all, we were laughing at the ridiculousness of the source. A scrub brush, I ask you?

A/N

It has been nearly four months since I last published a chapter for this fic and for that I apologize. My life has been crazy, I was taking college classes over the summer and I was dealing with a lot of self-doubt as a writer. But I'm over that now and I hope you enjoy this fic!

On a random side note, I love cosplaying so if you guys like cosplay and geekiness, follow my Tumblr, danger toaster cosplay, for photos from my latest con.

As always, please R/R so that I know what I have done well and what I need to fix or elaborate on. please give me HELPFUL critiques in the comments.

Thanks for reading!


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